Incarnations
by Tychon
Summary: The Ame Orphans aren't as dead as we think. How will they deal with being reborn into bodies not their own? What will they do?
1. I

A redheaded woman, urging, begging, pleading for her son's life. Cold, high-pitched, maniacal laughter, saying 'no' in a tone that was undeniably snobbish. A bright, sickly, yellow-green light rushes toward the woman. It hits her so strongly that she flies across the room. She falls to the floor in a heap, in shock, and dying, and dead.

Harry Potter knew that love wrought pain unto him.

* * *

A thin-necked woman, hissing, shrieking, screeching orders at him to scrub harder, and harder, and harder-yet-harder. Her son, his cousin, taunting and mocking him for having to do manual labor, something that the fat child has never been forced to do. The woman's husband, undoing his belt, whipping it at him because he needs to go faster.

Harry Potter knew that family wrought pain unto him.

* * *

A titanic troll with greyish skin, hitting everything in its path. Bashing doors, breaking pictures and portraits, shattering bones. A destroyed arm was what the boy got, while his friend ― now friends, he supposed ― got away without a scratch. The monster fell, and a mighty creaking noise sounded, and he needed to run, but he―

Harry Potter knew that friends wrought pain unto him.

* * *

A giant Cerberus, silently guarding a trapdoor. A man-eating plant, sitting in the dark, waiting for its prey. Thousands of flying keys, zooming around the air. A giant chessboard remained silent, the pieces guarding the door to the next room. A giant troll, requiring a victim to smash. Finally, a mirror awaited its next victim.

Harry Potter knew that being a hero wrought pain unto him.

* * *

The isolation was terrible. The benefit of speaking to snakes turned from a gift into a curse. A basilisk, prowling the corridors, petrifying anyone who saw its eyes' reflection. The Chamber of Secrets. Poison and phoenix tears, mixing together to cause an unnatural reaction. And for what? A little girl, one whom he barely knew?

Harry Potter knew that being a savior wrought pain unto him.

* * *

A psychopath ― the same one to betray his parents ― on the loose. He was trying to kill him (isn't this fun?). The loneliness abated, but the cold touch of soul-sucking monsters made that a neutral thing. Innocence and death, opposites in this context. A broken time-turner, blasting light everywhere, and he―

Harry Potter knew that having a close one die wrought pain unto him.

* * *

Harry Potter woke up in a cold sweat. There was something wrong, he knew it instinctively, and― he paused. The familiar scent of frying oil that he knew from only one place.

The time-turner broke, which meant... what?

He idly played with a strand of hair, and, upon seeing its length and color, froze. His hair wasn't that long. It wasn't scarlet.

He didn't like time-travel.


	2. II

Memories.

Memories.

Memories assaulted his mind.

Memories, so many of them that it made even thinking about thinking hurt.

Memories about another time, another place, another world.

Memories about three people: himself, a red-haired boy, and a blue-haired girl. He kept his orange hair, though it was a bit messier. Like how he planned to have it in the fourth year.

The fourth year that never came.

He had woken up to find an old house and a new batch of memories. Well, that wasn't all true. The Burrow wasn't that old (his dad had built it), and he still had his memories in his head, and they weren't all new. But the house was old to him, and he thought that had a new way of thinking. So he believed that he was justified in saying those things.

Speaking of his new way of thinking, he had a newfound hatred for the rain. It was in his new old memories that he found the origin of that hate. He had thought that, in his time as Yahiko, rain represented the people of his village's tears. He had vowed to stop the rain and all it portrayed.

Of course, he realized that it was a silly dream, even with his thirteen years of experience ― twenty-eight if you counted his life as Yahiko. Still, it was ingrained into him to want to stop the endless rain. Perhaps he would learn a spell―

No. No magic.

He had chakra now. He knew how to use it. He knew how to access it. He knew how to flow it. Jiraiya-sensei had taught him and Nagato and Konan.

He (Yahiko, really) wondered if they had also come with him.

"Ron!" came a voice from downstairs. Right, he was Ron. Not Yahiko.

But that ignited something within him. Who was he? Was he Ron? Yahiko? Both? Was he neither? He thought on this for several minutes.

No, he decided, he would be who he wanted to be.

And he wanted to be Yahiko. He wanted to be the poor orphan who knew the value of everything, the boy who sparked a revolution, the boy who was Nagato and Konan's friend.

Yes, he was Yahiko. Now, all he had to do was force everyone else to call him that.

* * *

Hermione clutched her head. The influx of memories that invaded her six-year-old head burned her brain, sizzled her circuits, fried her― french fries? Where was she going with this?

It was so hard to think with all of these memories to sort through! And the blue hair! Well, it wasn't all that new. She'd had it as Konan.

Regarding Konan, by the way: wow. Talk about a real-life love story. She still had hearts in her eyes thinking about it! The boy Konan had a crush kills himself to save everyone, and then her other crush turns into a crazy psychopath, and-then-and-then-and-then!

Where was she going with this? Right. Konan. Konan was awesome.

Konan was so awesome because she fought with paper! Hermione loved paper. Paper made books, and books made knowledge. Hermione liked knowledge. Konan loved paper. Therefore, Konan and Hermione loved each other!

Wait, no, that wasn't right, they loved paper― no, knowledge― no, books! Yes, that was more like it.

Hermione frowned. Her thoughts weren't always this insane. But then she grinned.

Her memories of her previous life (for that's what they were) weren't all that good. Her brothers/crushes both died for what they believed in, which made her both sad and happy. Sad because they died, and happy because they died how they wanted to. In a sense.

It made her very ambivalent when she thought about such things.

She decided to leave Konan's memories alone and practice her origami. Oh, and maybe find Harry, because he had likely come back in time with her when the time-turner broke.

But her origami came first.

She decided to do Tobi's mask. Konan hadn't ever liked him, especially since he had killed her, but Tobi's mask's reverse-spiral was a design she had thought would be very intricate.


End file.
